


don't let this happen

by orphan_account



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, Oswald distancing himself, These two can't deal with their feelings, caring jim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 15:45:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6861247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Go to sleep, Oswald," Jim relents. His expression softens. "And..." he takes a breath. "You don't need to feel lonely."</p><p> Penguin looks at him for what seems a long time, conflicted. Angry tears spill down his cheeks and he sits up, swaying a little. "Leave me be." </p><p>--</p><p>Oswald has to distance himself from Jim, for both their sakes. It's not easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't let this happen

 Like most, it is a cold and rainy night in Gotham. The moon hangs heavy in the sky casting an eerie silver light over the city.

 Jim waits a moment, letting the rain soak his hair. The purple neon umbrella in front of him glares ominously, daring him to enter.

 He is shown inside without question.

 On the stage, a beautiful girl is singing. Her voice is deep and husky, her fingers dance over the piano keys with an effortless grace. 

Oswald Cobblepot is a lone figure distinguishable by his spiked hair. He doesn't turn and Jim moves to stand in front of him. 

 "Jim," Oswald acknowledges, subdued. In one hand he holds a glass of red wine, fingers curled tightly around its stem, the other hand gripping his chair. He looks ruffled, paler than usual, eyes red-rimmed.

 Instead of anything constructive, Jim finds his mouth forming the words "Are you okay?", unable to ignore the pang of his heart.

 He isn't sure what this visit was about- it sure as hell wasn't meant to turn out like this- but the way Oswald looks is  _worrying._

 "I'm peachy," Oswald answers, forcing a smile but his voice cracks. "Now, how can I help you, old fri-"

 The detective notices an empty bottle. "How much have you had to drink?" he interrupts, concern knotting his stomach. This is all wrong.

 Penguin's smile faulters. "Not enough," he replies bitterly, gulping the rest of his drink before the other man can stop him. 

 Jim huffs, snatches his hand away as he reaches for another bottle.  _"Stop."_

 Oswald exhales desperately like that bottle was solid gold and Jim stole it. 

 "I'm gonna get you to a bed, Oswald," Jim mutters, shaking his head. Penguin finds this funny, giving a few hiccupping giggles. He helps the other man across the floor and carefully up the stairs.

 Gordon sets him gently down on the bed in the tiny room upstairs, draped still in red and gold. Jim absently wonders how often he sleeps here, then sits down on the bed.

 "Okay," he says a little awkwardly, unintentionally avoiding eye contact. "You wanna tell me what's got you like this?"

 Oswald curls up, watching him with eyes too tired to be calculating, but too piercing to be a sign of anything good.

 Then he says the one thing Jim Gordon would least expect from this man, this mobster, this murderer. 

 "I'm sad, Jim," he croaks with a rueful smile. "And lonely."

 Jim masks his shock. 

"You've had a lot to drink," he says carefully. "I don't recommend that."

 "Why?"

"Because look at you!" Jim feels his temper explode, angry and incredulous and scared all at once, but he doesn't let the last part bleed into his voice. "You'll hurt yourself."

 Oswald elects not to answer or maybe he just can't. He pulls the covers tighter under his chin and yawns minutely. It is such a childlike gesture, so unlike Penguin, that all Jim's anger suddenly drains away and he feels a sharp guilt.

 "Go to sleep, Oswald," Jim relents. His expression softens. "And..." he takes a breath. "You don't need to feel lonely."

 Penguin looks at him for what seems a long time, conflicted. Angry tears spill down his cheeks and he sits up, swaying a little. "Leave me be." 

 Wordlessly, Jim nods. He goes away.

The criminal is left alone, the only sounds are the rain pattering against the window and his singer's melancholy lyrics and minor chords echoing from downstairs. Oswald cries himself to sleep for the first time since he was a child- sad, lonely and hurt.

 Nothing has changed.

 

*

 

 The next morning, Oswald awakes with a pounding headache and a heavy heart. By the side of his bed is a scrap of paper with a phone number scrawled on it. 

 Exhaling shakily, he gets up for a freezing shower, dresses himself, and takes a couple of the strongest painkillers he can find. 

 He dials the number. It is picked up in seconds. He has to do this. He has to.

"Gordon."

"Detective."

 A beat. "Oswald?"

 Oswald steels himself, nails digging into his palm. "I don't want your pity," he says shortly.

 Jim's mouth engages before his brain again. "You seemed to last night."

 Oswald feels his face flush. "You took advantage of me. You made me say things I wouldn't say if I hadn't been drunk."

 Jim snorts. "What are you  _talking_ about? I dragged you up the damn stairs and put you in your bed because you were about to down another bottle.  _You_ told me those things through your own choice. I did nothing but care for you."

 Oswald laughs humorlessly. "And how long did it take for you to show an ounce of kindness to me?"

 "I saved your  _fucking_ life!"

" _No!_ You saved your integrity. You didn't care about me, and you never have. I thought you might be different, but you weren't," Oswald hisses. "People think you're different because of your morality. They think you're an  _angel._ But I know you're just selfish, and you only care about your reputation."

 "Cobblepot-"

"You don't care about me, do you? You  _use_ me."

 "You're a murderer," Jim practically yells. "You should be in jail." Oswald doesn't know it, but almost everyone in the precinct is just staring at their prized detective. 

 "So why aren't I?"

Jim nor his mouth can't find an answer this time.

  Oswald nods, having expected as much. He almost can't find it in himself to say so, but he injects as much poison into his words as he can when he tells Jim, "Don't call again, unless you are here for business. I don't forget you saved my life, Jim. I am grateful, and indebted to you. But don't pretend to me that you care."

 He's about to hang up, and forgets to breathe. 

 Jim's voice is so soft he can barely hear it. "I do care."

 Oswald holds the phone at length for a second so he can squeeze his eyes shut and steady his breathing.

 "When you look in the mirror," he says. "I hope you are disgusted. I hope you cannot meet the eyes of a man who condemns a crime that _he_  has commited."

 Jim is shaking with rage. "You have  _no right."_

"No, Jim. I have never pretended to be anything other than a murderer. But you... are a murderer  _and_ a liar. And which of us does that make worse?"

 Oswald knows the answer to this question, because he is lying right now. _He_  is worse. He is the one preying on the deepest insecurities of a man that broke his heart.  Simply because Oswald Cobblepot was foolish enough to think he could be anything to Jim Gordon. 

 There is a pause where their minds both scream _don't let this happen_  simultaneously.

 "Look after yourself, Oswald," Jim says eventually, strong as ever, the most heart achingly sincere he's ever been- but only he knows that. Oswald hangs up quicker than lightning, because that is too much. That is proof. Jim Gordon is a hero, and he is a villain.

 He sinks to the floor, just lets the tears flow freely. Feels regret seeping into every pore, but knows deep down that though it was the hardest decision he's ever had to make- it was also the most necessary.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this quickly and at first it was a lot shorter. Then I decided it needed more angst so the entire phone call scene was added. Suffice to say, I hate writing angst between these two because there's enough already! But if I had to submit a fic for realism, this'd be it. Oswald is clearly in love with Jim, and I think he hates that fact.


End file.
